“Do you know who Sinclair Austin is?” she asks.
Sinclair Austin: manager of travel cost atTake Me There.We’ve never met, obviously, but I’m aware of who she is, what she does. Sinclair is responsible for researching and analyzing the trueconsumer cost of travel features in the magazine. She also creates budgets for each writer and helps plan their trips.
And here is the coolest part: Sinclair Austin has abyline.In some ofTake Me There’s issues, she writes budgets for readers who are interested in specific travel destinations. Sometimes she even takes the trips with the writers herself.
“Yes,” I say to Molly, a little shakily. “I know who she is.”
“Well, she just got promoted to director of finance for the mag, and she’s looking to replace herself. It’s earlier than you planned. Your start date would be the first week of February. But I think you should interview at the very least, and consider that this job may interest you more than what’s available come summertime.”
All the background noise in my head quiets down and reduces to what she just said, over and over and over.
London office.
First week of February.
You’d be perfect.
“Wait,” I say. “I can’t. It’s not going to be…”
“Breathe, Casey,” Molly says. “I know what you’re thinking, but the job isn’t going anywhere, not for years. The acquiring company is going to have plenty of regulatory hoops to jump through, and you’re a valuable worker anyway. If I were you, this opportunity is something I’d seriously consider.”
“You—you know about the acquisition?”
“Yes. I’m in HR. We know everything, all the time. I won’t tell you there’s no risk. But I’m telling you I think it’s a risk you should take.”
“February?”I repeat.
Molly nods. “February.”
Here is the thing about want. Sometimes, it’s a dull pulse, a tickle on the back of your neck. And other times, it pushes in on you so hard that you can think of nothing else. You just want and want and want. A person. A place. A feeling.
I tell Alex that night.
I don’twantto talk about the London job—Iwantto talk about how he’s feeling about Dougie’s email—but he panicked earlier when he got my text and wouldn’t drop it until I told him what the meeting with Molly was about. After work, he trailed me home by half an hour. I’ve been waiting for him, pacing on the carpet until now.
I wish I could read him, but when he wants to be, Alex Harrison is inscrutable. While I talk, his hands rest lightly on his hips, watching me. I’m not sure he’s even breathing, he’s so still.
“You had an interview this afternoon?” he asks when I’m through.
I nod. “Molly scheduled it right after our touchbase. I talked to Sinclair Austin. She—she liked me, and they scheduled four interviews for Tuesday.”
The last thing I expect Alex to do is smile, the pull at each corner of his lips breaking through his stoicism, but that’s exactly what happens. “You’re going to get that job, Simba.”
I stutter out a laugh, guarding my heart against the sureness in his tone. I’ve been here before. I’ve been stung by things I want so badly, it hurts. When I first looked up the job description, I couldn’t stop grinning, my chest inflated with helium. It was like all the things I knew I was good at combined with all the things I’m desperate to try. Too good to be true.
“I’m not so sure,” I admit.
His face softens with understanding, and he doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t make me any promises. Alex’s shoulders bend forward, and his arms come around me, pulling me into a safety net of warmth.
How is he coping, with all his hard work ending in postponement? This whole day has been full of emotional whiplash.
“Enough about me. Tell me how you’re doing,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, his chin catching on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. Dougie didn’t say no, he said not right now. All things considered, that’s a small miracle.”
This is the moment I should say it:Alex, I need to tell you something.
It wasn’t a small miracle, it was a sleeper shot.
